


these lines were here long before we came around

by bisexualfpjones



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M, Riverparents, i'll update tags as i go along because this is gonna be a journey, parentdale, rich!fp au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-01-15 19:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualfpjones/pseuds/bisexualfpjones
Summary: Fred makes out with a stranger at a Halloween party and his life will never be the same.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> listen i KNOW i have other wips to update but it's halloween so let me live. i think it's about time we get the rich!fp au going now that jughead is at some random prep school that apparently his grandfather attended listen idk none of that is in this fic. i dont think... we'll see where the wind takes me all i know is ive been wanting rich!fp since season 1 so.
> 
> fic title from wicked blood by sea wolf (honestly my favorite band name ever. not that anyone asked)

He shouldn’t even be here. 

It’s Halloween. He should be at home helping his folks pass out candy between moments of stuffing his face with popcorn while watching _The Wolfman_ or something. So what if the Blossoms were the hottest ticket in town tonight and everyone else was flocking to try to get in on the action? _Fred_ certainly didn’t need to be one of them.

Sure, _maybe_ he had been looking forward to this party for weeks. The Blossoms had been throwing an annual Halloween masquerade for years dating back to before Fred was even born, but this was the first year he’d ever been invited. Because he was _supposed_ to be here with Hermione, who was really the one who snagged the invite. Fred was just her plus one. Until they had gotten into some stupid fight he’s still not even sure what the cause of was and she decided to dump his ass for Hiram Lodge. But they had already RSVPed, the two of them, so farbeit from Fred to let the Blossoms down and not show up to take his share of the food.

So that’s where he stayed all night. Parked by the elaborate buffet table laid out, cramming his face with finger sandwiches and appropriately themed desserts while he glared daggers at Hiram hoping one of them would land the fatal blow. 

It was bad enough Fred felt like he was constantly on the losing side of this war with Hiram, but the fact that he and Hermione looked so damn good together was just the salt in his wounds. They’ve been attached at the hip all night, gliding elegantly across the dancefloor like this is _their_ party and they own the place. And it’s not like Hermione’s _never_ been happy with Fred, he knows she has, but there’s something even he can’t deny when he sees the two of them together. It’s two puzzle pieces fitting together better than he and Hermione ever could.

But Fred’s not entirely ready to throw in the towel yet. 

He’s just getting ready to make his way over to the dancing couple, maybe ask to cut in (he really hasn’t thought that far ahead) when Alice Smith steps in front of him like some divine intervention. 

“Oh thank God you’re here,” she says, relief evident in her voice. “If I had to listen to one more trust fund baby talk about daddy buying them a new Porsche I was gonna blow my brains out.”

“Hey, Alice,” responds Fred, clearly not paying attention. He’s too busy trying to look over her shoulder at Hiram and Hermione still dancing.

“What are you-” Alice let’s her question trail off as she turns to look behind her, following her friend’s line of sight. She groans when she spots them and rolls her eyes. _Of course._ “Oh my God, Fred. You have got to let this go.” She punctuates the end of her sentence by tossing a chocolate covered pretzel decorated as a little mummy in her mouth.

“Let what go? There’s nothing to let go of.” It’s a bold faced lie and Fred’s not even trying to sound convincing. Alice opens her mouth like she’s about to go on one of her infamous Hermione’s-a-waste-of-time-and-you-can-do-so-much-better rants, but Fred cuts her off. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you hated Penelope.”

Alice closes her mouth, narrows her eyes at Fred because she _knows_ what he’s doing, but she takes the bait anyway. Arguing with Fred about Hermione was like arguing with a brick wall. “I do. But I figured there’s no better place to be on Halloween than the Blossoms’ House of Horrors, and Hal got invited so.” She throws a hand up to gesture _here we are._

Fred nods once, looks around. “Where is Hal, anyway?”

“Bathroom. Big parties make him sweat.”

Fred’s face scrunches up. “Gross.”

Hal makes his appearance then, slipping an arm around Alice’s waist and greeting her with a “There you are” before placing a kiss on her cheek. Somethin settles in Alice when Hal’s near. It’s a subtle difference, but one that Fred can pick up from knowing her so long. 

It’s cute, the two of them in their matching pastel masks, blue and pink, the very picture of high school sweethearts. Fred can hear Hermione’s laughter ringing out somewhere in the distance above the music. He thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“Hey, buddy,” says Hal, disrupting Fred’s thoughts. “How’s it going.”

Fred shrugs his shoulders, sighs, wishes he had a drink in his hand. “It’s going.”

“He’s moping about Hermione again,” Alice supplies, and Hal instantly looks uncomfortable. Him becoming best friends with Hiram didn’t necessarily put a strain on his friendship with Fred, but it definitely put him in an awkward position when it came to the boys’ feud over Hermione. As far as Hal was concerned, the less said around him, the better.

“Oh, I-”

“I am not _moping_!” Fred bites, cutting off Hal. 

Alice sticks her tongue out at him the same time Penelope approaches. 

“How strange,” the redhead starts, taking her position at Fred’s side with her arms crossed, glaring straight at Alice. “I could’ve sworn the invitations said no children.” She loosens up and even smiles to greet the other two. “Hi, Hal. Hi, Fred.”

The rivalry between Penelope and Alice had been going on for as long as Fred could remember, only worsening when Hal decided to work up the courage to ask Alice out. Everyone in school knew about Penelope’s crush on Hal, just as everyone knew Penelope’s hatred for Alice stemmed from a prejudice against all things South Side. It was really the perfect storm.

“Well if it isn’t the Dark Lord herself coming to grace us with her presence,” Alice says in fake awe. “To what do we owe this honor?”

“I can have you thrown out, you know,” Penelope fires back, voice laced with venom. 

Alice holds her hand to her chest and mock pouts.

Sensing things could take a turn at any second, Hal slips his hand in Alice’s and starts turning towards the dancefloor. “Okay, Alice, how about we go have a dance?”

Surprisingly, Alice obliges, until she turns back to Penelope with a shit eating grin and says “I would _love_ to, Hal,” before leading the way out to the floor, Hal tossing an apologetic “Great party, Penelope!” over his shoulder in the process.__

_ _Penelope waits until they’re obscured by the crowd to let her resolve fall, even if just a little. She wraps her arms around herself and looks down at her feet, and Fred can’t help but feel like he’s invading on some private moment that he shouldn’t be seeing, even if Penelope was the one that came over here._ _

_ _But he feels _bad_. Can’t help but to reach out and squeeze her shoulder, say “I’m sorry, Pen. I know you and Hal-”_ _

_ _Penelope whips her head up, confused, says “Hal?” before catching herself and says “Right. Hal.”_ _

_ _Fred doesn’t really know what that means, but he doesn’t have time to question her anyway before she’s changing the subject, smoothing out her dress. “So, how do you like the party? I would’ve invited you, but mother and father like to keep a strict guest list.”_ _

_ _It’s a polite way of saying the Blossoms look down their noses at families like the Andrews, Fred knows. The hard-working blue collar types that come home with dirt permanently caked under their nails from scraping enough money together to keep themselves just comfortable, and will never having anything extra to splurge with. They’ll never have Blossom money, and that, apparently, makes them unworthy._ _

_ _“It’s fine,” Fred smiles, letting her know he harbors no resentment. It’s not Penelope’s fault. She may not be the most open-minded person in Riverdale, but she’d always gotten along with Fred fine enough. “It’s not really my scene, anyway.”_ _

_ _Penelope’s face scrunches in confusion. “So then why are you here? I honestly wasn’t expecting you after Hiram showed up with Hermione on his arm.”_ _

_ _“I, um…” Fred doesn’t really know how he’s supposed to answer. He very well can’t say he came to stalk the two of them and maybe pull some last minute elaborate gesture out of his ass to win Hermione back. That would just make him sound like a creep, which… okay, maybe he was. But he didn’t need to go announcing it._ _

_ _He’s scanning the room, avoiding eye contact while he tries to come up with some lie to cover his ass when everything suddenly stops, and he’s keyed in on some handsome stranger entering the room. _ _

_ _Fred thought the whole idea of a masquerade in Riverdale was kind of pointless. Stupid, actually. Weren’t the masks supposed to add an element of mystery? But in a town like Riverdale, where everybody knows everybody, he didn’t understand how some fabric over the eyes was meant to render someone totally unrecognizable. Unless they went for a full mask, like he had seen Clifford wear, which was just weird._ _

_ _He’d had no trouble recognizing people all night, but the boy he was looking at now wasn’t ringing any bells. But he was definitely gorgeous. Fred could tell that much. Everything about him seemed new and exciting and had Fred captivated instantly._ _

_ _Fred took it all in; dark, curly hair falling over a black mask that encircled eyes almost black enough to match. A clean, sleek suit, clearly indicating he had the money to drop on it. And his lips… plump and pouty and inviting. _ _

_ _All thoughts of Hermione and his broken heart seemed miles away now, and the best part was the stranger was staring _back._ Like he was taking an interest in Fred, too._ _

_ _Fred had long since known of his same sex tendencies, and for just as long he had known that finding anyone to act on them with was hard to come by. He had managed to find himself a few chances in the past, albeit not as often as he maybe would’ve liked, so he knew well enough when he was being checked out, and this? This was definitely it._ _

_ _He’s only pulled back down to earth by the sudden snapping of Penelope’s fingers in his face, followed by her saying “Hello? Fred? Did you just short circuit?”_ _

_ _Fred blinks, shakes his head to clear it, or try to, at least. “Hey, Pen, do you know who that guy is?” His eyes never look away from their target._ _

_ _Penelope follows his gaze, seems to instantly recognize who he’s referring to and nods. “Oh, yeah! That’s- _shit!_” A loud crash rings out from what Fred assumes is the kitchen, and Penelope abandons all train of thought. “Sorry!” She says, almost panicked as she squeezes Fred’s arm, already turning to leave. “I should handle that before mother and father do.” _ _

_ _It seems urgent, like Penelope’s afraid of her parents coming across a mishap. Fred doesn’t know much about the older Blossoms, but he knows he’s never had an experience he’d describe as warm with them, can only imagine how they treat their staff, so he waves Penelope off with an _it’s fine_ gesture and watches her go._ _

_ _He turns his attention back to where the handsome stranger was before, but, much to Fred’s dismay, he’s gone. He frowns, even tries standing on his tiptoes as he looks around the sea of faces, but he comes up with nothing. There’s not a single trace of the other teen around. He’s just gone, like some sort of phantom, and Fred sighs in defeat, turning back to the buffet table to gorge himself on more finger sandwiches._ _

_ __ _

\--

FP was playing with fire, too drunk with resentment over his father pulling him away from his old school, his old _life_, to really give a damn if he fucked everything up now.

He was “going to give them a bad name,” his father had said, after deciding to pack up all their shit and haul ass to the smallest, bumfuck town in the state. 

It was comical, really. As if the Jones ever had a good name to begin with. But God forbid FP tainted it with his “transgressions”. 

He had been content to mope around all night, stewing in his anger while he wrecked every wall of their great new big house, but of course his father had to go and ruin that, too. Apparently they were expected to show up to the Blossoms’ Halloween party - his father having _important business_ to discuss with the Blossom patriarch. 

FP knew what that meant. Their families had business ties going back generations, and none of it was legal. But _FP_ was the one bring shame to the family. Sure.

He definitely didn’t need to be there for this, but daddy dearest can’t resist a chance to torture his bastard spawn, so naturally FP was forced to attend. Senior also never missed an opportunity to remind FP just how short of a leash he was on. 

Fortunately for the youngest Jones, however, almost as soon as they arrived his father was being escorted to Wilford Blossom’s study, and despite Senior’s warning of “_Behave_” in his son’s ear, FP felt like maybe the Halloween gods were smiling down upon him.

There had to be some sort of trouble he could get himself in to tonight, he thought as he stepped into the main room where most of the guests had congregated. His first order of business would be to find the most expensive bottle of liquor in the place and drown himself in it, then see where the night took him from there. But as his eyes wandered in search for the bar, they landed on something, some_one_, equally enticing. 

He sent something in FP’s heart racing, this stranger just standing there across the room looking every bit like some sort of James Dean wet dream. FP could tell he didn’t belong; dressed in what looked like a hand-me-down blazer that had scene better days in 1985 and a plain white t-shirt underneath, but that only had FP’s gears turning even more.

They locked eyes, and through the gold-flecked white mask the other boy was wearing FP could recognize that same glint in his eyes that was mirroring his own. 

This was turning out to be a fun night after all.

But he couldn’t do anything about it now. He may have been looking to rebel, but he wasn’t really up for getting his ass kicked, so whatever idea he had cooking up in his brain would have to wait. He needed to get this guy alone. Then he could make a move. 

He takes the opportunity to disappear into the party the second the other boy’s head turns, thinks maybe he’ll bide his time hunting down a bottle of bourbon, and it’ll all just be a waiting game from there.

\--

Fred spends the better part of an hour fixated on the stranger in the black mask, torn between working up the nerve to chase him down and not knowing what the hell he’s supposed to do if he does.

Hiram and Hermione have taken a break from galavanting all over the dancefloor only to cuddle up on a shared seat directly straight ahead in Fred’s field of vision, and he’s _positive_ Hiram did that on purpose. 

Fred could go fight him, maybe. It would certainly help with all the tension he’s currently got pent up. But Fred’s never really been much of a fighter, and he’s _sure_ throwing a punch to Hiram’s jaw while Hermione’s perched on his lap won’t do Fred any favors with her. It would definitely feel good, though, so there’s that.

He takes a glass of champagne from one of the passing waiters instead and downs it in one go before finding the nearest exit - a set of large French doors leading out to the backyard. He just needs some air, then he can calm down.

The cool air hits him as soon as he steps outside. It bites, but he won’t freeze to death. There’s just a hint of the winter months to come. It’s perfect for a night like tonight, full moon brightening up the sky behind the scattered clouds. It certainly _feels_ like Halloween. He thinks all that’s missing is a howling wolf or something, bites the corner of his mouth to keep from laughing out loud or worse, howling himself.

“Guess the real party’s out here.”

Fred almost jumps out of his skin, spins around to see the stranger from before, and it does nothing to settle his racing heart. He’s even more gorgeous up close, Fred realizes, and honestly that should’ve been a given.

_Play it cool, Freddie,_ he thinks. _Don’t screw this up._ “Yeah, but it’s a pretty exclusive event,” he says, going for a casual sorta cocky sorta cool. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He’s never second guessed flirting before.

It must work, though, because the other boy’s laughing, smirk on his face when he leans forward and says “Hope I made the guest list then,” and it takes everything in Fred not to let his knees buckle and collapse right then and there.

“I think, uh,” he wets his lips, swallows. The guy’s getting closer, slips his arm around Fred to grab on to the short stone wall behind him, half caging him in. They’re inches apar nowt, and this close Fred can see the detailing of the other boy’s mask. What he thought had just been simple black before is actually a pattern of scales, something reptilian, _predatory_, a snake, definitely, and it feels so fucking fitting right now, like he’s about to sink his fangs into Fred or something. And Fred wouldn’t mind at all. “You’re definitely on the list.”

“Good. That’s good,” the stranger says, voice low and rough and just above a whisper. He’s leaning in impossibly closer, warm breath ghosting over Fred’s face. He can detect a hint of liquor, but the guy doesn’t seem drunk in the slightest.

Fred’s heart is somehow beating too fast and too slow all at once. He somehow focuses enough to catch the song that’s drifting out through the open doors. Fred recognizes the band almost instantly. 

Creedence Clearwater Revival is on the speakers singing _I put a spell on you, because you’re mine…_ and Fred’s got this hot guy pressing him up against a wall, his other hand now coming up to cup the side of Fred’s neck as he says “So you wouldn’t mind if I do this then?” 

And no. Fred doesn’t mind. Whatever this guy’s about to do, Fred will absolutely welcome with open arms.

John Fogerty croons on in the background, and without any further delay Fred’s being kissed, and every thought and care and worry he had about tonight goes flying out of his head.

He doesn’t know what he had been expecting, but this feels about right. It’s heady and passionate and _raw_ and Fred can’t shake the feeling that this was _supposed_ to happen tonight. Like this was the whole reason he even came to this stupid party. 

He grabs on to the lapels of the boy’s fancy suit and pulls their bodies flushed together before his hands start roaming; up his back, down his chest, grabbing his thighs. 

The other boy moans, and Fred can’t help the satisfied smile that forms on his lips as they keep kissing. 

“You good with your hands?” The boy teases.

“Haven’t had any complaints,” Fred responds, hooking his fingers into the stranger’s belt loops and tugging him forward, eliciting a chuckle from him before Fred’s getting lost in his mouth again.

They’re hidden in shadows, safe from prying eyes even though he can still hear the party going on not far behind them, and it makes the moment all the more surreal. 

Their masks bump against each other as they kiss, and maybe it should be more awkward, but they’ve managed fine so far. But Fred’s getting this feeling in his gut like he _needs_ to know who he’s kissing, and well, if he can kill two birds with one stone…

Fred reaches up to grab hold of the black mask, tries to slip it off the stranger’s face, but his wrists are grabbed before he can do anything, holding them in place. 

“Don’t,” he says, leaving Fred confused.

“I just want to see what you look like.”

“It’s better this way. Trust me.” And then his lips are back on Fred’s before he has time to protest.

Fred doesn’t get it. Does the guy think he’s ugly or something? He certainly doesn’t carry himself like he does. And from what Fred can tell, there doesn’t seem to be any scarring or deformities that he could be hiding. Not that it would matter. Fred’s not shallow. And this guy’s like, a _really_ good kisser. Fred’s willing to look past pretty much any possible flaw at this point.

But he’ll take no for an answer, doesn’t want to risk ruining their good time. 

He slips a hand into the dark curls he’s been obsessing about since he saw them and they’re every bit as soft as he’d imagined. He gives an experimental tug and the stranger moans. Fred smirks. “You like that?”

“Fuck yeah,” stranger boy replies, taking Fred’s chin between his index finger and thumb to turn his head to the side so that he can get to his neck. He focuses on Fred’s pulse, teeth biting at the skin before he laps his tongue across, soothing any sting.

Fred’s whole body is buzzing and he feels like he’s on cloud fucking nine right now, doesn’t want this to stop.

But then there’s an _actual_ buzzing, and suddenly there’s no longer that pressing weight against him, no more hot mouth on his skin, and he honestly thinks he could cry.

“What’s going on?” He asks, breathless, notices that his former makeout partner is staring down at a pager looking annoyed, maybe even upset.

“I gotta go,” is all the explanation he gives.

“But-” Fred reaches out, like some sad child whose toy is being taken away.

The guy kisses Fred again, softer than the others, before walking backwards towards the party in a hurry. “Gotta run. This was fun, though. We should do it again some time.” And then he’s turning around and disappearing back into the house.

It takes Fred’s brain a second to catch up with him. He would _love_ to do this again sometime, maybe even add in a little extra, but how are they supposed to do that when they have no idea who each other are?

Fred finally gets his feet moving, runs back to the party to try and catch up to masked loverboy, the drums of the song picking up towards the end while Fred pushes through bodies to find the one he wants.

But he’s nowhere in sight. Gone like he was never there to begin with. And Fred’s left standing alone wondering if they’ll ever see each other again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> senior appears at the end so usual trigger warning for that but its WILDLY tame considering every other time ive written him lmao (i will be back on my bullshit tho its just a matter of whens the right time for this fic. already got a scenario plotted out in me brain) idk if i should be advertising that.... only 5 people read this and yall know what im about so

“You don’t get it, Alice. It was like, _the_ best kiss I’ve ever had.”

“Oh, no. I get it. I get it far more than I ever wanted to. Because you haven’t shut up about it since it happened.” 

Alice slams her locker shut, moving past her best friend who’s currently leaning beside it, swooning away over some mystery boy he’s likely to never even see, let alone kiss, again. It’s been two days of this. Two days of having to hear Fred wax poetic over what was most certainly only meant to be a drunken hook-up. A one-off. And of course here he is acting like he’s just found his soulmate.

“Okay, but, I _cannot_ stress how hot he was, Al-”

“Half his face was covered! He could be a total troll!” She had tried to be supportive, really, but there was only so much she could take.

“Trust me, trolls do not have lips like _that_.” Fred gets this far off look in his eyes, starts tracing his fingertips along his lips.

“Oh my God,” Alice groans. She needs new friends.

Fred stops shy of the door to their American government class as he seems to finally take in Alice’s attitude, says “You could at least pretend like you care…” and gives her those damn sad, brown, puppy dog eyes of his that could bring even the meanest old man to his knees.

And it’s not fair. It is _so_ not fair. Because if Alice Smith knows one thing, it’s that Fred Andrews goes through crushes like underwear. Hell, he had _just_ been pining for Hermione _right_ before this new guy came along. As sure as she was that the sun would rise tomorrow, she was sure Fred would be on to some new fling by the end of the day. 

But... she also knows she’s the only person Fred has to confide in about this particular crush. And, contrary to popular belief, she is actually capable of compassion and empathy. 

She sighs, looking off to the side as she mutters, “Okay, fine. Maybe I was being a bit of a bitch.”

Fred beams, opens the door for her all grand and dramatic to usher her in. “Apology accepted.”

Alice rolls her eyes, but walks through anyway. “Don’t get carried away.”

They find their seats, settling in for another lecture of the same old same old. It’s about five minutes into class when the door opens, disrupting Mrs. Knight mid sentence as some sullen kid in a grey flannel and Led Zeppelin t-shirt comes walking in.

Alice hears a small gasp behind her, followed by the sound of scribbling and paper being torn from a notebook before a small wad of it that simply reads _CUTE_ lands on her desk. She gives the guy in front of her a once-over. She’s seen worse, but… she’s also seen better. He kind of looks like a fish, if she’s being honest. “You have the worst taste,” she whispers over her shoulder.

“All right, class. Looks like we have ourselves a new student,” Mrs. Knight announces. “Everyone welcome Mr. Forsythe Jones.”

Alice doesn’t miss the blush creeping on new kid’s face at the attention and the subtle wince he gives at his name being called before mumbling “It’s FP.”

“Right,” Mrs. Knight says, all fake cheery and clearly just wanting to get on with her lesson. “Well, FP, have a seat, then.”

He walks by, presumably to claim one of the back desks (he just seems like the type, Alice thinks), and Alice has no reason to think about him for the rest of class.

Fred, however, feels differently. 

The new kid, _FP_, is sitting diagonally a couple seats back from Fred, so fortunately he doesn’t end up looking too conspicuous as he stares the other boy down. A subtle turn of his head, eyes following...

He seems quiet, Fred observes. One of those brooding loner types. He’s slouched in his seat, legs spread wide. Definitely isn’t hiding, but still… reserved. Guarded, maybe.

Fred watches as he pulls out a pen, taking the cap off with his teeth and leaving it there as he doodles in the pages of his notebook. Fred can’t help but be drawn to his mouth; blue pen cap caught between full lips, jaw working as he flips the plastic around between his front teeth and chews. Fred’s totally transfixed.

There’s something familiar that he can’t quite place his finger on. Like he’s seen FP somewhere before. Which can’t be possible. Riverdale’s a small town. The kind where everyone knows everyone. And Fred seldom ventures outside of it beyond summer trips to the Shore, and something in Fred is telling him that definitely isn’t it.

It hits him like a ton of bricks when suddenly FP’s eyes dart up to meet his. And Fred can’t forget those eyes; dark as night with more than a hint of danger. Something in Fred’s gut stirs, and he _knows_ these are the same eyes he stared into on Halloween.

But with the embarrassment of being caught, he quickly turns forward, not daring to turn around again. He’s not sure if FP put the puzzle pieces together too, and he doesn’t want to come off as any more of a weirdo in case he didn’t. But Fred can’t just sit on this.

He leans forward in his desk and reaches out for Alice’s arm, whispers, “That’s him!”

“Who’s him?” Alice questions, trying to juggle whatever Fred’s current crisis is while following along with the notes Mrs. Knight is writing on the board.

“The hottie from the party! It’s him! It’s FP!”

“Bullshit. You can’t know that.”

“Trust me, Al. It’s like a fifth sense. It’s-”

“Mr. Andrews! Ms. Smith! Care to share with the rest of the class what you find more interesting than my lesson?” Mrs. Knight demands, coming to stand directly in front of Alice’s desk.

“No, ma’am,” Fred and Alice say in unison.

Mrs. Knight fixes them with a stern look and warns them that another distraction will lead to detention before returning back to her lesson. Once her back is turned, Fred chances another glance back at FP only to find the other boy staring intently out the window, like nothing in this class is worthy of his attention. 

Fred tries not to take it personally.

\--

“I’m gonna talk to him,” Fred informs Alice, staring off beyond her where FP’s at his locker across the hall. Class had just let out, and they’re standing at Alice’s locker, Alice biting down on her Blue & Gold editing notes while she shoves the books she needs for homework into her bag.

She has an argument to make, Fred can tell by her tone, but the words are all jumbled through the paper in her mouth. His face scrunches up as he turns to face her. “What was that?”

She huffs, slinging her bag over her shoulder and removing the papers from her mouth. “I _said_ I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Fred straightens up indignantly, pulls at the strap of his backpack where it hangs over one shoulder. “You never think my ideas are good.”

“It’s because they never are.” Fred gives her a face. Alice ignores it. “What are you gonna say, huh?” She deepens her voice to imitate her best friend. “Hi, I’m Fred. We made out the other night, I think. Wanna do it again?” 

Fred sputters, feeling somewhat insulted, and maybe a little called out. “I- Psshh. _No!_” Truthfully he has no plan, but Alice doesn’t need to know that. “I’m just gonna go, like, introduce myself. I’m a charming guy, Al.” Fred’s starting to feel a little more confident about this thing. He’s never had a problem landing dates before. And sure, maybe he’s navigating choppier waters here, but it’s not completely foreign territory.

Alice looks off to where Fred had been staring the majority of the past five minutes. FP’s still at his locker, sour puss on his face that just screams _come near me and I’ll chew your head off._ She’s familiar with that look. She’s _perfected_ that look. “Yeah, well, good luck with Mr. Sunshine over there.” She closes her locker, turns to face Fred and pats him twice on his chest for encouragement, even if it is mocking. “I gotta go meet Hal. I’m sure you’ll tell me how everything went later.”

“Gee, thanks for the pep talk.”

“Anytime.” Alice smiles brightly. “Bye!”

She leaves him alone, and Fred’s left chewing the inside of his cheek as he tries figuring out the best way to go about this. He can’t be _too_ direct, doesn’t want to risk scaring the guy off. Also doesn’t want to risk outing himself just in case Alice was right and he was totally wrong about this whole thing.

“It’s fine. You’ve got this, Fred,” he says to himself, shaking out his nerves. He straightens up, puffing out his chest and holding his head high as he finally makes a move towards FP’s direction.

He gets there just as the other boy’s shutting his locker, turning to leave only to almost end up colliding with Fred.

The sudden closeness makes Fred dizzy, knocks every coherent thought right out of his head. FP smells good. Like something earthy mixed with leather. Fred blinks, tries to refocus, and he better come up with something quick ‘cause the guy’s just staring at him like he’s annoyed, and this is _not_ the first impression Fred wants to make.

“Um, hi. I’m Fred,” he introduces, extending his hand. “You’re new in town, right?”

FP just looks down at Fred’s hand and then back up at him, not making any moves to reach for it, and Fred’s mentally kicking himself in the face for not playing this smoother.

“What’re you? The welcoming committee?”

Noticing it was clearly a bad move, Fred puts his hand down, nervously wipes the sweat from his palm on his jeans in what he hopes is a subtle movement. “No, um.” He clears his throat. “I just thought maybe you’d want someone to show you around? Give you a tour of the school or-”

“That’s real sweet of you, but I think I can manage.”

He moves past Fred, seemingly ending the conversation, if you could even call it that, but Fred can’t leave well enough alone. He turns to face FP’s back, says “Well, if you ever want to hang out sometime…”

FP visibly sighs, his shoulders lifting up then down. He’s running a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he turns around. Fred thinks maybe he’s got him.

“Look, I’m not really interested in making friends here so whatever it is you’re after, I’m not the guy.” 

And FP’s not mean when he says it, but Fred wouldn’t exactly call it _nice_, either. He doesn’t know what the hell to make of it, so he finds himself staying silent this time when FP walks away.

Maybe Alice was right. Maybe Fred was mistaken. Because whoever this guy was couldn’t have been the same guy who flirted with him at the Blossom’s party. Couldn’t be the same guy who left him vibrating out of skin, knees weak.

But if he was… well. Fred didn’t know which one was more disappointing.

\--

“I’m fucked,” FP says, standing in the greenhouse on Thornhill’s grounds. He’s in serious crisis mode. First day at a new school and shit’s already hitting the perverbial fan. Of course this would happen to him.

“I thought that’s what you were in to?” Penelope teases. She looks up from where she’s busy pruning some roses, gives FP a cheeky smile as he rolls his eyes.

“You’re not funny.” He pulls out a pack of smokes from his jacket and taps one out, puts it between his teeth so he can get his lighter. “You know anyone named Fred?”

“Andrews?” Penelope asks as she walks over and plucks the cigarette from FP’s mouth before throwing it into a nearby bin. FP throws his hands up and makes an aggravated noise, but Penelope’s unphased. “No smoking in the greenhouse. The plants need clean air.” She goes back over to her flowers.

“Is there more than one Fred at that school?” FP shoves his hands in his jacket pockets for lack of anything better to do with them now, leans against the table of plants behind him. 

“No, but… Why do you want to know about Fred? He doesn’t exactly seem like your crowd. No offense.” 

“I don’t even know what to take offense to.”

“He’s just…” Penelope shrugs, plucks off a few leaves. “Really popular? And really sweet. People actually _like_ him, you know?”

FP actually _is_ offended now; mouth falling open and hand, still in his pocket, shooting up to his chest. “And people don’t like me?” Penelope quirks an eyebrow at him, fixes him with a look until FP drops his hand and admits “Fine. I’m not the most likable person. But I was still popular.”

Penelope scoffs. “Yeah. Because you’re a Lothario.”

“Yeah, well.” FP shrugs, suddenly losing any bravado from before as he looks down at his feet. “I was doing what I had to.”

FP knows he left a trail of broken hearts at his old school. He felt as guilty about it then as he does now. Though, something tells him no one’s crying over it anymore. Rumors spread quick, and he’s sure everyone’s well familiar by now with the story of why he had to move, even if the finer details got lost in the numerous games of telephone that were bound to have taken place.

Penelope softens. She’s all too acquainted with the tragedy that is FP’s life, the reasons for why he acts the way he does. They’re not so different, as hard as it may be for some to imagine. It’s an unlikely friendship, she can admit, and they hardly started off on good footing when they met years ago as children, their fathers conducting secret meetings while the kids were ushered off to go play. 

They were both too shy, too guarded for their own good. Still are. But one day they had looked at each other and just kind of _understood_. And somehow they became the most normal thing in each other’s lives.

She sighs, sets aside her pruners and rests her gloved hands on the table before her. “Look, I get it. I do. But Riverdale’s a clean slate, right? You don’t have to be that guy anymore. But leave Fred alone. Your life’s complicated enough.”

FP squeezes one eye shut, looks at Penelope with the other with his face scrunched up because he knows she’s not gonna like what he has to say next. “Yeah… about that…”

Penelope straightens up. “Oh no.”

“Remember that guy I told you I made out with at your party…”

“No. No. Absolutely not.” Penelope’s profusely shaking her head, already knowing where this is heading. 

“I think it might’ve been Fred…”

“Forsythe Pendleton!” She grabs her pruners and lifts them up like she’s about to chuck them at FP. It’s a strong consideration, too, as the tool remains frozen in the air in her hand. She gives it a shake like she’s actually about to throw it before ultimately deciding she can’t kill FP because she can’t afford to lose any friends. Also, the clean up would be terrible. 

“Jesus Christ, Pen! Have you completely lost it?” He doesn’t think she would’ve actually chucked them at him. At least, he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t have. But still. The use of his full name was punishment enough.

“Have _you_?” she spits back. “That is the worst possible name you could have given me!”

“I don’t understand what the big deal is. What, is he the preacher’s kid or some shit?” Penelope doesn’t answer him, and FP starts to actually panic - straightens up, eyes blowing wide. “Shit, don’t tell me I made out with the preacher’s gay son.”

“He’s not the preacher’s gay son, calm down,” Penelope says, and FP’s shoulders relax on a deep sigh.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that.”

Penelope bites her lip to suppress a smile, shrugs one shoulder. “It was funny. But you’re not in the clear. Fred’s dad isn’t a preacher, but he might as well be.”

“The hell does that mean?” 

“He’s just… traditional, I guess. Fred’s always talking about how strict he is, and it sounds like Fred has this certain image to live up to. The American dream, you know?”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m tryna ask for his son’s hand in marriage, so.” FP let’s the sentence trail off. Sounds like he wasn’t the only one looking to rebel against his father that night. This wil probably end up working in his favor, though. Fred was just looking for some fun, a little excitement to break the monotony of his life. He’ll go back to looking for his wife and kids dream in no time. FP tries to ignore the way his stomach twists at the thought. He wishes he had a smoke right now, brings his thumb up to his mouth so he can chew the skin around his nail instead.

Penelope looks her friend over for a minute before saying “Alright,” and ending that particular conversation. She walks over to him, leaning next to him on the table and playfully bumping her hip against his. “I can’t believe Fred Andrews is gay.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “I never would have seen that one coming.”

“You might have to sort your own shit out before you can start spotting others,” FP jokes, laughs when Penelope’s hand flies up to backhand his chest.

“How’d you even know it was him? I thought the both of you were disguised.”

A smile creeps on to FP’s face. “He’s got this really distinct voice. Sexy as shit. Swear to God I got off like three times that night just thinking about it.”

Penelope shoves him away from her, says “Oh, ew! Gross! Now I can never hear him speak again!”

FP just laughs.

\--

It’s dark when FP comes home, but it’s not late enough for his father to be in bed. He’s probably in his study, “working”. It doesn’t really matter. FP’ll steer clear regardless.

He wasn’t expecting anything from his new school. Definitely wasn’t expecting anything _good_. But man is everything already fucked up. Riverdale was meant to be half clean slate, half punishment, and it was already delivering the latter in spades.

And it’s his own fault. It’s always his fault. Because FP doesn’t think. Just _does_. And his stupid act of rebellion has come to bite him in the ass because he did not take into account just how fucking small this town actually was. 

He mulls over his current predicament as he heads to the kitchen to grab a beer. It’ll settle itself out. He’ll just keep being a dick, and if his suspicions about Fred are right he’ll more than likely get over this little… _whatever it is_ by the end of the week. Maybe even sooner. And they’ll be nothing more than footnotes in each other’s stories, if even that. And if FP’s left with the memory of how that was the best damn kiss of his short miserable existence, then, well, that was his business. He would keep that for himself.

He grabs a can of Pabst out of the fridge, satisfied with his own laid out plans, and startles when he closes the door to find his father standing on the other side. _Fucking creep_.

“Jesus! Have you been watching Phantasm again?”

“Where were you?” Senior asks, a brick wall in front of FP. Cold, unmoving. If FP had to guess, he’d say he’s about three glasses in. Nowhere near scary levels yet, but still dangerous enough.

“I was with Penelope.”

This has become their new routine. It wasn’t long ago that Senior didn’t give two shits about his son’s whereabouts, who he was with. When FP was younger he used to wish for different. Wanted to know what it was like to have a father who actually cared. That, too, has come to bite him in the ass.

Things have changed drastically since he got thrown out of his last school. FP’s honestly surprised his dad hasn’t put a tracker on him yet. He figures there’s still time. But for now he just gets the questions, which is a load of bullshit. Because no matter what FP says, his dad will never be satisfied with the answer. It’s why he’s still standing here now even after FP told him. It’s why FP doesn’t have the patience for this.

“You can call the Blossoms yourself,” he sighs. He’s not interested in playing this game tonight. There’s a bed and a joint calling his name, and the stress of one Fred Andrews is currently sitting too heavy on his shoulders. 

He tries to sidestep his dad, but is immediately blocked. Senior’s right in front of him, closer now, looming over him with a violent threat. “You better watch that attitude, boy.”

FP doesn’t flinch, won’t show any weakness even if his grip on the beer can tightens. His jaw clenches as he makes eye contact, readies himself for whatever comes next.

It’s a tense few seconds. Minutes? Years? Time always has a way of vanishing in moments like this. 

But no fists are raised this time. No slaps are handed out. Not even a voice raised. FP stands there waiting for a blow, but his father just gives him a onceover, snarl on his face but voice level despite its gravel when he says “Take a shower. You stink,” before leaving his son alone in the darkened room.

Nothing settles in the absence of his father’s presence. There is no relief. Never will be while they’re under the same roof. There’s heat prickling behind FP’s eyes, tears that he won’t - _refuses_ to - shed. His vision goes blurry as he pops the tab on the can in his hand, swallows down its contents in what feels like might be a new record before crushing it and sending it flying somewhere off in the black. He turns back to the fridge, opening it up with the intention of just grabbing one more can. But his hand hovers over the pack while he weighs his options. Decides _fuck it_ and takes the whole thing upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave comments and kudos if you love celine dion because im seeing her on wednesday (everybody loves celine dion so this better get hella kudos if youre reading this)

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos much appreciated to appease the halloween goblins and ghouls :) (its me... im the goblin and ghoul)


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